


5 times Peter fell asleep on Tony

by emavee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alien Sickness, Family Bonding, Final Exams, Fluff, Gen, Heartfelt Conversations, Infinity War didn't and will never happen bye, Iron dad and Spider son, Kidnapping, NOT Starker...can't believe i have to say that, Narcolepsy, Platonic Cuddling, Sleepy Peter, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, Violence, Whump with a happy ending, copious amounts of hair playing, generic robot fighting, morgan stark - Freeform, movie marathons, stab wounds, will tag as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-17 17:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16100030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: ...and 1 time he didn't





	1. finals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noxes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxes/gifts).



> Prompt: can we get a fic about peter falling asleep on tony? if you can sneak a forehead kiss in there that'd be great <3
> 
> so, i really took this prompt and ran with it--hope you enjoy! not every chapter will be fluffy, but everything will have a happy ending, i promise!

Finals: the worst villain Peter’s ever faced.

 

Seven classes, seven teachers who didn’t care that he also had to study his ass off for six other classes, seven tests that would determine whether or not he’d stay on decathlon, get into college, prove to himself that he could handle being a high school student and a superhero at the same time.

 

And _finally,_ he was done.

 

After hours of testing, Peter walked down the school hallways with Ned and MJ, the three of them finally free. Mindless formulas are still buzzing around his head, but they no longer hold any meaning to him. The strong stench of chemical clean burns at his nostrils and a headache is buzzing at his temples, but none of that matters, because it’s all over. He made it through.

 

“Wait,” Ned said, still talking about their math exam for some godforsaken reason, “you got 9.8? I got 4.7. I think. Maybe I’m thinking of another question. Peter, what did you get for the hot air balloon question?”

 

“Uh,” Peter tried to remember the specific question Ned was asking about, but he couldn’t. He barely remembered taking the exam. His brain had been working overtime all week, and now it’s crashing. “I don’t remember. Sorry, dude.”

 

Ned sighed. “It’s okay. I’m just going to stress about it until scores are released.”

 

“Why though?” MJ asked. “You can’t change what you wrote. Worrying won’t change your grade.”

 

“Do you really think like that?” Ned asked, dark eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “That’s amazing. I wish I could turn my brain off like that.”

 

“Nah,” MJ said. “That’s just what I tell myself while I continue to stress about it internally. No one can really turn off their brain, Ned.”

 

“Uh, looks like Peter can,” Ned said. “How are you not stressing with us, man?”

 

“I didn’t turn my brain off,” Peter argued. “I’m still stressing about grades. I just—” He made a vague handwavy gesture. “It’s all gone. I’ve gotten like six hours of sleep total this week, and I spent all my time thinking about school—”

 

“That’s not healthy,” MJ interrupted.

 

“And now that it’s over, and I don’t have to think in calculus anymore, my brain is just too tired to think about school anymore.”

 

“Okay, yeah,” Ned said. “I get that. Did you really only get six hours, though? That’s not good, Peter.”

 

“Exaggeration, man,” Peter said, although it’s not actually. One week of all-nighters seems to him like a fair price to pay for good grades. Now that it’s over, he can sleep for like a week straight. That balances it all out, right?

 

Besides, he’d reached the point in his sleep deprivation where he’s not actually tired. His brain is just a little exhausted from taking test after test, that’s all. Physically, he felt fine, there’s just a fog that rolls into his head whenever he tries to think about differential equations or Spanish conjugations.

 

“Hey,” Ned said, “my mom’s making a celebratory dinner tonight—you guys in? Gonna be great… She’s going all out.”

 

MJ visibly pouted. “Damn. I’m leaving tonight to visit my grandparents.”

 

“Pete?”

 

“Sorry, man.” Peter really does hate to miss it. Mrs. Leeds was probably the best cook he knew, and his stomach rumbled just thinking about it. “It’s a lab day.”

 

Ned didn’t even take a moment to look crestfallen; his eyes immediately lit up.

 

“Lab day? With Tony Stark? Have I ever mentioned how cool your life is?”

 

“Yes,” MJ said, rolling her eyes. “You say it like every day.”

 

“Tell me all about it after, okay?” Ned said to Peter. “I love living my nerd dreams vicariously through you.”

 

Peter laughed. “I will.” In his pocket, his phone buzzed, alerting him to Happy’s fourth text telling him to hurry up. “I gotta go. We’re still on for Saturday night, Ned?”

 

“Always!”

 

Peter waved goodbye to his friends before breaking into a jog towards the parking lot. The fresh air hit him square in the face and he breathed it in, letting his headache dissipate. It rained while they were stuck inside, and the air is thick with humidity. Puddles evaporated around his feet in the warm air and he smiled, feeling the beams of sun peeking out from the clouds as they hit his face.

 

He slid into the car, throwing his backpack on the floor, buckling his seatbelt, and chirping a cheerful hello to Happy.

 

“Hey, kid,” Happy said. “How were the exams?”

 

“Pretty good, I think,” Peter said with a shrug. “I feel good, but you never know, ya know?”

 

“Hmm. Well, hopefully everything went well. I don’t want your scary aunt calling to yell at Tony again. He gets really sulky when he has to yell at you, and a grumpy Tony is not good for my mental health.”

 

Peter hummed. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that. You’re already looking a little grey.”

 

Happy shot him a scarily long glare for someone who really should have had his eyes on the road.

 

“Watch it, kid,” he said, but Peter knew there was no sincerity to his glare. He grinned back smugly at the older man.

 

The ride flew by, feeling like just a few minutes before Peter was blinking up at the compound entrance and thanking Happy for the ride.

 

“Have a good weekend, kid,” Happy said. “Take care of yourself.”

 

Peter shot him a confused glance, since the man was rarely so open with the soft-spot Happy insisted he didn’t have—banter was far more their style—but smiled anyway. “You too, Happy!”

 

Mr. Stark was waiting for him in the lab, and Peter was excited to get started. Finals week meant he got done with the day at 11:00, after finishing up his last couple of exams. When he’d mentioned this fact to Tony, his mentor had seemed ecstatic to have more time to spend with Peter, a concept Peter tried not to think about too hard, since it might make his mind explode with excitement. Normally on Fridays, Peter would come over after school and they’d work until their May- and Pepper-enforced curfew.

 

(That’s not to say that they didn’t go a little over sometimes—they just tried to limit the number of times they worked into the early morning, since Pepper was scary when she caught them, and she always relayed the information to May, which led to a stern talking-to on Peter’s part, and a full-on angry lecture for Tony on the responsibilities of looking after a teenager.)

 

Peter’s half day at school meant extra time in the lab. It meant eating lunch together, their mouths spewing theories and ideas around Peter’s favorite takeout before rushing back down to put those theories to test. It meant Peter could babble on and on about whatever without feeling guilty about taking up too much of their shared time.

 

It’s what he’d been looking forward to all week. Every time he opened his textbook or pulled out his flashcards, he had to push away the part of his brain that just wouldn’t shut up about all the ideas he couldn’t wait to share with Tony. It had been a bit hard to focus, but he pushed through.

 

“Hey kiddo,” Tony said, grinning when he walked in and looking up from his workbench.

 

Peter tossed his backpack into the corner and threw his arms up dramatically. “I’m free!” he said, beaming.

 

“Proud of you, kid,” Tony said as Peter scampered over to sit next to him on the bench. “How were the tests?”

 

“Pretty good! What are we working on?” Peter asked. He could feel himself practically vibrating with excitement, and his bouncing knee was probably shaking the whole table, but Tony just chuckled at him.

 

“Nanotech,” Mr. Stark answered. “How much do you know about that?”

 

“Not much,” Peter admitted, stifling a yawn.

 

“Good thing I’m such a great teacher then,” his mentor grinned. “Alright, kiddo, listen up—”

 

Mr. Stark launched into a lengthy explanation on the theories behind nanotechnology, and normally Peter would be listening with rapt attention, but for whatever reason (see: finals-induced sleep deprivation), he just couldn’t focus. In less than two minutes, his mentor’s words had faded into a dull whir and Peter’s eyelids were growing heavier and heavier.

 

He just wanted to rest his head for a minute. Mr. Stark would be fine. They had all day, and chances are, Tony had already moved from actually explaining the technology to murmuring whatever new theories popped into his head in the spur of the moment.

 

He wouldn’t mind if Peter put his head down, just for thirty seconds. Thirty seconds and he’d be ready to go for the rest of the day.

 

Peter let his head fall forward and his eyes drift closed.

 

Just… thirty… seconds……

 

* * *

 

Tony was in the middle of telling Peter about the nanite housing unit when he felt a strange weight on his right arm.

 

He’d been staring at the screens in front of him, left hand waving through the air as he talked and flipping through holographic projections to so Peter could see what he was talking about. Secretly, he was looking forward to seeing Peter’s eyes light up and hearing all his questions. The kid was an excitable genius, and working in the lab had never been as, well, _fun_ as it was with Peter.

 

He was so into his work that it took him a few minutes to even recognize what had happened, and even then, it was only when his fingers started going numb that he happened to look down and everything clicked into place.

 

Peter, once staring up at him with wide eyes, had slumped forward against the table, his forehead resting on Tony’s arm. With the absence of his own voice in his ears, he could hear Peter’s slow, steady breathing—could feel it, too, against his skin with every soft exhale.

 

“Pete?” Tony whispered, using his free hand to brush his hair off of his forehead and feel for any fever or sickness that might be lingering. There was nothing, which was unsurprising, since Peter had told him that he hadn’t gotten sick since before the bite.

 

But what was surprising was the fact that the kid was asleep, at 12:30, in the lab, on the first day of his break.

 

“FRIDAY,” he said softly, just to be sure, “give me the kid’s vitals, will ya?”

 

She pulled them up on the screens in front of him—everything looked normal. So the kid was just sleepy, then. Or Tony was being horribly boring.

 

Nah. Kid was just tired. He’d had a busy week, that’s it.

 

Peter sniffed, and Tony could feel his nose wrinkle and his face scrunch up as he turned to rest his cheek against Tony’s arm. His long eyelashes fluttered a little in his sleep, tickling slightly as he let loose a sharp exhale of warm air and settled back into his nap.

 

The kid’s big head was pinching his arm painfully against the table now, so he gently tugged himself free, planting his other hand firmly in his curls to keep him steady.

 

He was prepared to let Peter continue sleeping while he got back to work, but he couldn’t focus when he just kept glancing down at the kid, looking at how he was hunched over against the slightly too-short table—if he stays like that, his back and neck will be killing him later, enhanced healing or not.

 

With a sigh, he reached over and grabbed the spare MIT hoodie he always keeps in the lab, folding it up and tucking it under Peter’s head.

 

There. Now he could go back to work.

 

Except…

 

God, had it always been this boring to work without Peter? It couldn’t have been. He used to go on 36-hour lab marathons, back before Peter was even born. He should be able to work for longer than twenty minutes without looking at the clock or letting his mind wander.

 

He glanced down at the sleeping kid again and sighed. The nanites could wait. Today was Peter’s day.

 

Gently, Tony reached down and ran his fingers through the curls that fell on Peter’s forehead, pushing them back and stroking the kid’s temple with his thumb. He ignored the way Peter’s face curled into a smile at the touch and the flutter of paternal warmth that came with it.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said softly. “C’mon, Pete. Eyes open."

 

When that didn't work, he tried a new approach: "Peter. Peter! Pete. Kid. Peter. Pete! Kid. Peter. Peter. Peter," punctuating each word with a poke to the kid's side.

 

He grinned as the kid blinked awake blearily. “Huh? Mis’r Stark? Oh shit. Did I fall asleep?”

 

“Sure did, kiddo.”

 

“’M so sorry, Mis’r Stark,” he said through a yawn. “Didn’t mean to.”

 

“It’s fine, kid. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“I’m up now,” Peter said, sitting up and swaying in his seat as drowsiness continued to pull at his eyelids. He looked adorable, like a puppy that just couldn’t stay awake. “Nanites. Go. I’m listening.”

 

“Yeah, I think you’re done for the day, Pete.” Peter’s face fell, and Tony instantly felt bad. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. We’re just going to move upstairs. We’ll get some food in you and have a movie marathon. Sound good?”

 

Peter blinked. His body swayed slightly, like he was threatening to tip over back onto the table. “Don’t you need to work? It’s fine if you do. I—”

 

“It’s your day, Pete. I want us to hang out. You’ve been using that big brain of yours to the max this week—you deserve a break, yeah? It’ll be fun.”

 

The kid’s face morphed into a drowsy beam and Tony’s heart melted. Yeah, screw work. This kid was so much more important.

 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he said.

 

“Alright, kid, let’s head on up.”

 

Tony reached over and steadied the kid with an arm around the shoulders. What he hadn't counted on was how clingy Peter could be when he was sleepy. He'd seen it before, but he never got used to the fact that he somehow didn't hate when the kid got like this. Somewhere along the line, he'd stopped thinking of Peter as "that spider kid that I need to try and keep alive or else I'll be screwing yet another person's life" to " _my kid_ , who wormed his way into my life and refused to let go and I don't even mind."

 

Peter, in his sleepy stupor, let himself get pulled into the one-armed hug, before he reached up and hugged Tony back, both arms winding around his neck.

 

"Whatcha doing, Pete?" Tony asked with a chuckle.

 

"Tired," Peter said, laying his head on Tony's collarbone. "Warm."

 

Tony huffed and rolled his eyes. Gently, he unwound the kid from his neck and pulled the sweatshirt from the table over his head. Peter was barely any help as he shoved the kid's arms through the sleeves. Peter smiled, his eyes shut. His hair was no longer styled for school, and his curls stuck up in odd places. Tony was smoothing his hair down before he even realized what he was doing.

 

"Thanks," Peter said again, just loud enough for Tony to barely hear him.

 

Then, he wound his arms back around Tony's neck and resumed position. With his eyes closed and breathing slow and content, Tony was worried the kid was going to fall asleep right there.

 

"Hey, Pete. Don't fall asleep. Up and at 'em."

 

"Don't wanna... Too...tired..."

 

"Fine. I guess we're doing this the hard way. I'm getting way too old for this kiddo, and if I hurt my back, I'm going to ground you."

 

Peter frowned, his eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. "Huh?"

 

Tony grinned and wrapped his arms back around the kid before heaving him up off the bench. Peter's super strength and freaky spider powers kept him firmly latched onto Tony's chest without him having to do much to support him.

 

"I'm so glad I've got an elevator, Pete, or you'd have to nap on the lab floor."

 

"You'd never let me," Peter mumbled sleepily against his chest.

 

_No, I wouldn't._ "Sure I would."

 

Once they were settled on the couch in front of the TV, Tony decided to forego food for now. Spider-baby would be starving when he woke up, but there was no getting the kid to sit up long enough to eat anything of substance, so he'd just have to wait. 

 

Right now, Peter was curled up next to Tony, his head on his shoulder, his eyes blinking blearily at the TV. No way would they stay open for long.

 

"Give us some movie options, Fri," Tony said, shifting to throw his feet up on the coffee table and hug Peter's shoulder tighter.

 

"No movies. Wanna finish  _Project Runway_ ," Peter mumbled. "Season finale."

 

"No way! You're thirty seconds from falling asleep, Pete. It seems fair to let me do the choosing, since I'm the one who's actually going to watch it."

 

Probably not, actually. He was comfortable and warm and more relaxed than he'd been in a while. It was only a matter of time before he joined Peter in dreamworld, but he wasn't about to tell Peter that. He had a reputation to maintain here.

 

" _Project Runway_ ," Peter insisted. "I won't fall asleep. Promise."

 

Tony sighed. "Fine. Play it, Fri." He felt the grin in Peter's cheek against his shoulder. Little shit had him wrapped around his finger and he didn't even mind.

 

A few minutes in, he glanced down to see if Peter was asleep yet. Surprisingly, his eyes were still open, gazing half-lidded at the TV and drifting closed every few seconds before he blinked himself awake again.

 

"Hey, Pete," Tony said slowly, "why are you so tired? I know it was exam work, and you've been working really hard, but you know sleep is really important, especially with your metabolism."

 

"I know, Mr. Stark," Peter said, "but it's just one week. 'M Spider-Man. I can handle one week."

 

"How much sleep did you get, Peter? Be honest with me."

 

He could feel Peter shift slightly, angling his face down where Tony couldn't get a good look at it. So he was guilty.

 

"Enough."

 

"So, you pulled a week of all-nighters?"

 

"No. I got a few hours."

 

"How many?"

 

"Seven?"

 

"Each night?"

 

"Uh..."

 

"All week? Pete, you can't do that."

 

"I know, I know, but I couldn't sleep. I needed to study. I wanted to do really well on my exams."

 

"You're a smart kid, Peter. You didn't need to spend that much time studying. May would just want you to do your best and be healthy while you're at it. You know she wouldn't be mad if you didn't get all  _A+_ s. Is this about the scary girl in charge of your decathlon team?"

 

"No," Peter muttered. "MJ's surprisingly lax about exam scores. Like, she knows grades are important, but she's also really adamant that mental health is important and standardized tests are a bad representation of intelligence." He stifles a yawn halfway through what sounds like a practiced speech.

 

"Alright..." Tony said slowly, "then why were you working so hard?"

 

"Wanted to do really well this year, is all." 

 

That was a lie. Well, maybe not a lie, but certainly not the whole truth.

 

"Yes, Pete, I get that. But why?"

 

"Wanted to impress you."

 

Tony blinked, caught off guard. If Peter weren't so tired, he probably wouldn't have admitted it. Tony would like to believe that Peter knew better, that he got that Tony was always going to be proud of him, no matter what. He was the best damn kid in the world, and everything he did impressed Tony to no end. He was always damn impressed with this kid.

 

But in reality, he probably doesn't. God knows why, but for some reason, Peter never quite sees how amazing he is. And he never sees just how proud Tony is of him.

 

But he needs to. Suddenly, it's the most important thing in the world that Peter know exactly what Tony thinks.

 

"I'm always proud of you, kid," he said softly, running his fingers through his curls. "No matter what. I'm always going to be so, so proud of you. You're a good kid, Peter, you know that? You don't need to work yourself to the bone to try and impress me. I'm proud of every single damn thing you do."

 

"Really?" Peter blinked up at him owlishly, brown eyes huge and wide.

 

"Really," Tony said. "You're important to me, kid, and that means you should be getting your rest. It's not good for you to miss that much sleep."

 

"You do it."

 

"Remember what I said? Don't do anything I would do? Grey area?"

 

"Yeah, okay." Peter really must be tired if he doesn't bring up how ridiculous that whole line had been like he usually does. "Sorry."

 

"It's okay. Just get some rest, kiddo. I'm proud of you anyways."

 

He could feel Peter smile against his shoulder as Tony tipped his own head sideways to rest on Peter's curls and let his eyes fall closed.


	2. battle

Peter was pretty sure he’d never stop feeling giddy every time the Avengers called him in for a mission. Sure, he was just supposed to be back up, and Mr. Stark would never let him in on anything really big, but more and more often he found himself fighting alongside the Avengers—and not just stuck evacuating civilians! Not that that wasn’t an important job that Peter was more than happy to do, but he always felt like he could do more to help.

 

And it was the Avengers!

 

Peter grinned under his mask as he swung between buildings, propelling himself directly at one of the robots that were tearing up Manhattan and knocking a fair-sized dent in it. His smile only grew when he watched the thing spark and fall dead.

 

“Nice one, Spidey,” Falcon called as he flew by.

 

“Thanks!” Peter chirped. “Give me a lift towards the action?”

 

He watched Falcon circle around towards him and he shot a web, latching on and whooping as he was dragged through the air.

 

The past few months, he’d developed a steady rapport with the other Avengers. They didn’t know who he was—he was holding off on that for a while, at least until the team was officially back together—and they didn’t know he was sixteen, but they seemed to like him okay. They’d reached the point that he could joke around on the battlefield and usually get a snappy reply from the Falcon and the occasional tiny grin from the Black Widow (that was the most impressive moment in Peter’s life, he had to admit). They got along well, fought well together.

 

The Falcon dropped down next to where Captain America and the Black Widow were taking down robot after robot at alarming speeds. Above them, Mr. Stark fired shot after shot, careful not to let any of the falling metal bodies hit the other heroes.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” Peter called.

 

“Oh good, you’re here,” Mr. Stark replied. “Help out Steve and Natasha on the ground. Wilson can cover air support.”

 

“What are you gonna do?” Peter asked. He watched Tony land towards the edge of the chaos and felt his eyes bug out when the suit opened up and he stepped out. “Mr. Stark!”

 

“Relax, kid.” He crouched down next to one of the fallen robots. “These things are some sort of hivemind, so if I can get in, I can shut the whole swarm down remotely.”

 

“I agree with Spidey,” Captain America said. “You can’t do that from in the suit?”

 

Mr. Stark shot the Captain a quick glare. “The inner workings of these things are pretty delicate. As good as the suit is, I need a little more precision than that.”

 

“I still don’t like this…”

 

“It’s fine.” Tony waved him off. “Spidey’ll watch my back, right?”

 

“Of course!” Peter nodded and jogged over closer to him, pausing to punch out one of the robots along the way.

 

“See?” Mr. Stark said, and Peter could hear the grin in his voice. “I’m in good hands.”

 

Peter set up shop a few meters away, keeping his back to Mr. Stark and his eyes on the robots. It didn’t take long for them to realize what Tony was doing and start to close in.

 

Natasha Romanov appeared almost out of nowhere at one point and took out a bot that was about two seconds away from taking Peter’s head off. He thanked her breathlessly and watched as she slipped away with a nod.

 

Another time, Captain America rolled over and cut one in half with his shield before Peter could even sense the thing coming up behind him.

 

Peter was all alone, however, when his senses buzzed and he whipped around to see one of the bots lurking in the shadows, aiming one of its arms in the direction of…

 

Mr. Stark. Who still knelt on the ground suit-less and vulnerable.

 

Peter sprinted towards the robot, but there was no way he would make it there in time. Fighting the way every nerve in his body was screaming at him to duck the incoming danger, Peter leapt sideways, directly intercepting the knife-like projectile that sliced through the air towards Tony.

 

The weapon tore through his side and Peter had to bite down hard to stop a shout of pain. He rolled onto the ground, momentum throwing him over and over a few times, each roll bringing a new burst of pain. He came to a rest against a wall, and without thinking about anything other than the horrible pain in his side, he tore the blade out and tossed it aside.

 

Oh. That’s not what you’re supposed to do with stab wounds. Bad move, Parker.

 

He didn’t look at it. It wasn’t bad, just hurt. But it was fine. He was a superhero. These were the Avengers. It was fine; not great, but fine. He could still fight and that’s all that mattered.

 

One quick glance over his shoulder at Tony elbows-deep in a robot, muttering to himself as he worked, confirmed that he remained completely oblivious to how close he’d come to getting impaled. He was safe. Good.

 

Fuck, when Mr. Stark found out Peter was hurt, he was going to be so mad—

 

No, no he wasn’t, because it was fine. And if he told him he’s hurt, he would get benched, and he couldn’t be benched, not for one light stab wound or whatever. The other Avengers would never take him seriously again.

 

He pushed himself shakily to his feet and rounded on the bot who’d shot at Tony with renewed anger. Ignoring his side and his spinning head, Peter charged at the thing. He shot a web onto the robot’s head and used it to pull himself into its chest. With one kick, the thing was down on the ground in two sparking, dead pieces.

 

Peter nodded with satisfaction and then stumbled when the action made him dizzy. It only took a second to clear though, so he figured he was okay.

 

To the left, he heard Natasha Romanov call for backup, and that was the end of that. He was fine. _The freaking Avengers_ needed his help, tiny stab wound be damned.

 

* * *

 

With one finishing touch and a small pop of electricity, all the bots fell to the ground around them.

 

Tony cheered and pushed himself to his feet, watching Steve and Nat pick their way through the fallen carcasses towards him.

 

A few feet away, Peter was making his way over towards him, and although he couldn’t see the kid’s face with the mask, he knew Peter would be beaming. A mission? With the Avengers? This would be the highlight of Peter’s life, at least until the next team-up happens.

 

And for real, the kid kicked ass today.

 

“Nice work, kid,” he said, throwing his arm around Peter’s shoulder like he always did, letting all his happiness and pride show in such a simple gesture.

 

The kid let loose a loud exhale and tipped his head sideways onto Tony’s collarbone. Huffing out a laugh, Tony gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

 

“Tired, kiddo?”

 

Peter didn’t answer, just let his head rest a bit heavier and tightened his own grip around Tony, and that was all the answer he needed—

 

Until suddenly Peter’s weight shifted. The kid’s whole body weight slumped sideways against Tony, who has to stumble to catch the kid before hit the ground. Peter is dead weight in his arms, head lolling, arms dangling limp.

 

“Peter?!” As carefully and gently as he can with the way his heart is threatening to ratchet straight out of his chest, Tony lowered Peter to the ground. It’s only then that he sees the dark stains on the side of the kid’s suit, as Peter’s blood oozes onto the pavement.

 

He yanked the mask up to expose Peter’s mouth and nose, breath hitching as he sees how pale the kid’s turned. He’s breathing, but too shallow. Exhales come out as faint wheezes and Peter’s pulse is too faint under Tony’s fingers.

 

When did this happen? How long had he been hurt? Was it right at the end or had he been fighting for consciousness for a while, continuing to battle while he bled out?

 

“Peter?” he asked again—begged, really, for the kid to answer him.

 

He didn’t, and Tony pulled his mask off the rest of the way. Civilians had long been cleared out.

 

That’s all Peter should have been doing. Tony shouldn’t have let him get involved in the actual—

 

“What happened?” Tony glanced over to see Natasha and Steve making their way over to him, dragging a beat-up looking Sam between them.

 

Steve froze, helping Natasha sit Sam down on the ground and giving a quick order for her to take care of his injuries before he jogged over and fell to his knees beside Peter.

 

He heard Steve’s breath hitch, which was completely understandable. Steve had no idea Peter was sixteen. He knew Spider-Man, liked Spider-Man, but he didn’t know Peter.

 

And now Peter was laying on the ground, unconscious and pale and bleeding, Tony desperately checking his pulse and pressing his hands against the deep gash in the kid’s side, trying to staunch the blood flow.

There’s too much; it’s all over the ground, on Tony’s hands, on Tony’s _clothes_ as he realized Peter’s tired leaning against him before had been the kid’s way of fighting for consciousness and silently begging for help.

 

Stupid idiot—why didn’t he say anything?

 

“Peter?” Tony said again. He watched the kid’s pale face, searching for any sign of life, but other than the weak movement of air between his bloodstained lips, his eyes remain stubbornly closed and still.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, pulling a roll of bandages out of his utility belt, “you need to get him to medical. This isn’t going to cut it. He’s losing blood fast.”

 

“I don’t—how did this happen? Why didn’t he—” He felt frozen in place; Steve had to physically remove him from Peter’s side so he could start applying the bandages. Tony was left with empty, shaking, blood-stained hands curling for where Peter used to be.

 

“Medical, Tony!” Steve snapped. “Get the suit.”

 

He nodded. Right. The suit. He barely registered what was happening before the suit closed around him and Steve was passing Peter over to him. Thank god FRIDAY had some sense, because she got them in the air and headed toward the compound before Tony could get his brain to turn on.

 

He just couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened. He hadn’t even known the kid was hurt and all of a sudden, he was unconscious on the ground. This shouldn’t have happened.

 

Tony had invited him into the fight. He’d pulled him straight into the center of things and asked the kid to protect him—but that was just so backwards. He should have been protecting Peter, not the other way around. And now Peter was paying the price.

 

“FRI,” Tony said hoarsely, “call Bruce. Let him know we have an emergency patient coming in.”

 

In his arms, Peter didn’t move.

 

\--

 

Thirteen stitches, a quick blood transfusion, and six hours later, Tony watched Peter’s eyes flutter open.

 

“H-hey, Mr. Stark,” he muttered, his eyes only half open, a lopsided smile growing on his face.

 

“You idiot,” Tony whispered, carding his fingers through Peter’s bangs. “I watched the footage. Why did you do that, kid? Why would you do that?”

 

“Had to,” Peter murmured, his voice slurred with drugs and blood loss and sleepiness. “Imma healer, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Pete…”

 

For the first time, Peter blinked his eyes open wide and looked over at Tony. His expression was hard to read—drowsiness obscuring the precision of his usually-expressive features—but his eyes held something dark and sad that made Tony’s stomach twist and his fingers itch to pull the kid into a tight hug, stitches be damned.

 

“I can’t lose anyone else, Mr. Stark. You’re too important to me. My parents, Uncle Ben—I can lose anoth—I can’t lose anyone else.”

 

Tony blinked, trying so hard to think beyond the fact that Peter had just sort of, kind of implied that he put Tony in the same category as his dead parents and uncle. And yeah, somewhere along the way he’d started thinking of Peter as _his kid_ in a sense, but—but he’d never meant to. He’d never meant to because that would be selfish and irresponsible and not fair to Peter, the world’s most perfect kid.

 

But apparently _Peter_ —

 

“After Uncle Ben,” Peter murmured, looking at his lap, “I never—I didn’t think anyone would—You’re so, so important to me, Mr. Stark. After Uncle Ben, you’re like the—the closest thing I have to a—a…” He trailed off with a gulp, but Tony understood.

 

“ _Oh, Peter._ ” Tony said with a sigh, and Peter flinched, just barely visible, but Tony caught it all the same, and instantly he felt an overwhelming need to clarify.

 

“Oh, kiddo. I—You have to understand, I care about you too. I care about what happens to you—you’re one of the best damn things to come into my life, but _kid_ , I’m not worth your life. No one is. If you died—”

 

“I know, I know,” Peter said hurriedly. “That’s on you. I’m sorry.”

 

“ _No._ That—that’s _not_ what I’m trying to say. I’m trying to say… that I care—that I—I lo—I care about you so much, kiddo. I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do without you, kid. I’d be a mess. And DUM-E would absolutely wreck the lab—”

 

He grinned when Peter let out a wet laugh, and for a few moments, the two of them sat in warm silence, smiling for the first time.

 

“I am sorry,” Peter said finally. “But I don’t regret it—”

 

“ _Never_ do that again, Pete. Never. I’m the adult and it’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

 

“But I—”

 

“It doesn’t matter that you have powers, Pete. You’re still a kid.”

 

“You weren’t in the suit! And I can heal—”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Peter! I can’t—Kid, you scared me half to death. You collapsed on me and then I had to go and find out that—that you put yourself in front of me. I—don’t _ever_ do that again, Peter. Do you understand me?”

 

“I understand,” Peter said, and when he looked up at him, a halfhearted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he could tell he meant it. Peter, too awkward and afraid of losing people, and Tony, emotionally constipated and used to putting up wall after wall—both of them finally understanding, without having to say it.

 

But Tony actually wanted to say it. Peter deserved to know, and frankly, he needed to know—if only so they never went through this situation again.

 

“You’re like family, Pete,” Tony said quietly. “I don’t know how you did it, but you are. I can’t lose you, kiddo.”

 

“I—I get it, Mr. Stark.” Peter swallowed. “I do. And I feel the same way about you. That—that’s why I—”

 

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Peter. Don’t ever do something like that again. Don’t even think about it. In fact, you probably shouldn’t even bring it up because I’m going to kill you, Peter Parker. If you die, I am absolutely going to kill you. And I get the feeling May would be right behind me.”

 

“Maybe you could just ground me instead?” Peter asked, and the little brat had the nerve to actually grin at him.

 

“Until you’re thirty, you little shit,” Tony replied, ruffling his hair.

 

Peter shrugged. “I could live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i said, they won't all be fluffy, but there will be all happy endings! <3


	3. movie marathon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> admittedly, this is not my favorite chapter (which is why it took me forever to right), but bear with me because I'm really excited for the next three!
> 
> also, since i'm a sucker for avengers as family, let's just say that the civil war ended up getting settled pretty reasonably

For the two days Peter was trapped in the med bay, he had several visitors, the majority of which were the Avengers. Even the ones who hadn’t been on the mission with him had stopped in.

 

At first, it was great. Captain America and Black Widow and Hawkeye and Bruce Banner in his room, talking to him! And not just on the battlefield!

 

It was nice. Mr. Stark was a fairly constant presence, and Aunt May, and he’d met Dr. Banner a few times when he was being patched up before, but the others were new. And for a while, he couldn’t stop smiling.

 

Mr. Stark teased him about being a fanboy, but he didn’t care. He was used to that stuff from him, and he usually had a comeback ready to go.

 

But the day before he was released, the Falcon—Sam Wilson—showed up to visit.

 

It’s not that he didn’t like Sam; the guy was great. He was nice, and a chill guy and he was surprisingly willing to joke around with Peter on the battlefield now that they were on the same side.

 

It’s just that… Peter had been bedridden for two days. Sam was hurt in the same battle as Peter—broken leg, broken ribs, concussion—but he’d been able to hobble around in the halls all on his own, while Peter was stuck in bed.

 

And yeah, okay, maybe Peter’s injury was a little worse. Maybe Sam had just needed to be patched up a little while Peter fought through some fairly extreme blood loss, but Peter had super healing, and Sam was a nonenhanced human.

 

The problem wasn’t their unequal injuries, it was the fact that Peter was kid, and now everyone knew that. It didn’t help that Sam didn’t have anyone telling him to stay in bed. Well, maybe he did, but it didn’t matter because he was an adult who didn’t have to listen to the rest of them.

 

Peter stayed in bed. He listened to Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner because he knew they were right. Maybe he could have gotten out of bed the day before, but better safe than sorry. It wouldn’t hurt him to take an extra day to heal, and Mr. Stark kept him company when Aunt May had to leave, so it was fine.

 

He didn’t actually mind.

 

But Sam being up and about meant that Peter looked like a freaking baby. An enhanced superhero with super strength and super healing and he couldn’t get out of bed before a freaking normal guy who was shot out of the sky.

 

He tried not to be too upset about it. He tried not to read too much into it, but if there was one thing Peter was good at, it was overthinking. And once he got going, he started noticing a lot of little things.

 

Like how Clint didn’t really seem to want him on his team when they played basketball and kept calling him “shortstack.” Like how Steve caught him making himself hot chocolate at two in the morning and all but lectured him about the importance of sleeping. Like how Natasha’s face quirked into an amused smirk when she caught him doing his summer assignments for school. Like how Sam kept asking over and over if he was sure his side was okay after he flopped down on the couch too hard and winced even though it was only because he’d stubbed his toe on the way.

 

He felt so viscerally aware of his age and his height and his stupid baby face. None of this had happened when he was still just Spider-Man to them. It had taken him a long time to start to act comfortably like his dorky self in front of Tony. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get there with the other Avengers—not if even mundane stuff made them see him as a baby.

 

That sucked. He hated being treated like a little kid. He hated being underestimated.

 

“Movie marathon tonight, kid,” Clint said after training one day. He and Peter had sparred, but Peter could tell the guy had been pulling his punches. Peter had been too, but only because his full strength could really hurt someone. Clint didn’t need to go easy on him. He wasn’t going to break. “ _Harry Potter_? Sound like something you’d be interested in?” He wagged his eyebrows.

 

Peter loved _Harry Potter_ , but he didn’t like the way Clint was grinning at him so smugly, like they were watching _Harry Potter_ because Peter was some fanboy baby who couldn’t handle a more mature movie. He watched tons of movies. They didn’t need choose something “kid-friendly.” He wasn’t a child.

 

But… he really did love _Harry Potter_ … And there was no way he would pass up on a movie night with the actual Avengers…

 

“Yeah,” Peter said, making sure to keep his voice light, casual. “Sounds great.”

 

* * *

 

“Where’s the kid?” Sam asked.

 

“Shower,” Tony said. “He’ll be here soon.”

 

“We can wait for him,” Steve said.

 

Tony nodded. “He’ll appreciate that.”

 

“Good,” Natasha said. “I like the kid.”

 

Tony blinked. “You—”

 

“I do too,” Clint said. Sam nodded.

 

“He’s a good kid,” Steve agreed.

 

A little stunned, Tony smiled. “The best,” he said quietly.

 

Right on time, Peter stepped into the room, decked out in a pair of sweatpants and one of Tony’s old MIT hoodies, hair freshly washed and curls sticking slightly to his forehead.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said. The others echoed similar greetings and Peter smiled tightly in response.

 

Peter sat down next to Tony on the couch, because of course he did. Without saying a word, the whole team seemed to know that the spot beside Tony would go to Peter. Grinning, Tony slung his arm over the back of the couch behind Peter, fully prepared for the warm feeling of the kid slumped against his side. It was their standard movie night position, after all.

 

Except, Peter didn’t lean over. He didn’t curl up. He sat up stick-straight, both feet on the floor, hands in his lap, eyes on the screen.

 

Expression melting into a frown, Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot the kid a quick text.

 

**_TS:_** _What are you doing, kid?_

Barely moving, Peter glanced down at his own phone and typed a quick response before returning all of his attention to the screen.

**_PP:_ ** _Watching the movie?_

**_TS:_ ** _Are you ok?_

Peter looked a little irritated at all the texting, but he responded anyway, glancing over at Tony with an expression of confusion.

**_PP:_ ** _I’m fine_

**_PP:_ ** _Why?_

**_TS:_ ** _I mean, this just isn’t our usual movie protocol, that’s all_

**_TS:_ ** _But if you’re fine…_

**_PP:_ ** _I am fine… why are you being so cryptic?_

**_TS:_ ** _Why are you sitting like that? It’s a movie marathon, kid. Marathon. And the Avengers go all night on these things. Get comfy._

Peter shifted just slightly, leaning one elbow against the arm of the couch. Just for a split second, he saw Peter’s gaze flit around living room full of Avengers before settling back on the TV screen.

 

**_PP:_ ** _I am comfy_

**_TS:_ ** _I know you, kid. You are not. Assume movie marathon position._

Again, Peter shifted slightly but maintained his statue-like posture. When he glanced again at the couch where Steve and Natasha were perched on opposite sides, everything clicked into place.

 

Grinning, Tony kicked off his shoes and flung his legs over Bruce’s lap beside him. His upper body shifted slightly closer to Peter, who looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

 

Bruce didn’t even flinch. Of course he didn’t. This was normal. The team was lucky if they made it halfway through a single movie before they were practically one big cuddle pile. Natasha’s chin on Steve’s shoulder, Sam’s head in Nat’s lap, Clint on the floor with his head again Bruce’s leg and his hand lazily gripping Natasha’s, Thor worming his way in somewhere whenever he was in town. It was normal.

 

Peter didn’t need to be embarrassed because he got drowsy and clingy. It was apparently a thing for superheroes, tired from fighting crime and facing the world and seeking out physical comfort from the only other people who just might understand them. Peter fit right in.

 

**_TS:_ ** _You don’t need to do that, Pete_

**_TS:_ ** _I’ll let you in on a secret: the Avengers? Huge cuddle monsters_

**_PP:_ ** _They already think I’m a baby…_

**_TS:_ ** _They do not_

**_PP:_ ** _They do!_

**_TS:_ ** _They do not. They might see you as young, but that’s kind of what you are, so it shouldn’t matter._

**_PP:_ ** _But I don’t want to be some little kid who’s hanging around the avengers like some sort of lost puppy!_

Tony looked over at Peter, watching how the kid pointedly avoided looking anywhere but at the TV screen.

 

**_TS:_ ** _You know, the whole team has been praising you for months now. Maybe they didn’t know you were sixteen before, but it doesn’t really look like their opinions have changed. Nat even wants to spar with you some time. She was impressed with you today._

**_PP:_ ** _Wait really? Black Widow said that?_

**_TS:_ ** _Yeah, kiddo. They all like you. They’re happy you’re here._

**_TS:_ ** _They want to get to know you better. Peter Parker, not just Spider-Man. So be yourself, and if anyone makes fun of you, I’ll shoot them in the face._

**_PP:_ ** _Do not shoot them, Mr. Stark!_

**_TS:_ ** _I’ll do it, kid. I’ll shoot any one of them._

**_PP:_ ** _You don’t have to do that_

**_TS:_ ** _But I will. That’s how much you mean to me._

Without even looking over, he saw Peter’s demeanor shift out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, he curled his legs up on the couch and leaned over to rest his cheek on Tony’s collarbone. With a sigh, Tony relaxed further. It felt right—warm and safe, surrounded by the team, Peter tucked comfortably into his side. Their lives were too chaotic and dangerous and sometimes terrifying to try and pretend like they didn’t need each other, like they didn’t care, like they wouldn’t do anything to keep each other safe.

 

And finally Peter would get to be a part of that. Good. Tony needed more people looking after the kid, or he was going to have a heart attack before Peter was old enough to vote.

 

He caught Steve’s eye and the man smiled at him. Tony rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile (but admittedly not very well not) before turning his attention back to the movie.

 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter murmured softly.

 

Of course, it was nice to know that even though Peter had a whole team to support him now, Tony would always be the one he looked to for support and comfort. Maybe it was a little selfish, but he couldn’t help it. He never thought he’d have a teenager looking up to him like this, and maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe Peter would be better off with someone else mentoring him. But damn if Tony didn’t love looking out for the kid.

 

“Of course, kiddo.” He dropped one of his hands into Peter’s hair and carded his fingers gently through his curls.

 

“Hey, Spidey,” Clint called, just as Harry was sorted into Gryffindor. “What Hogwarts houses would you put us all in?”

 

Tony glanced over and watched Peter lift his head just slightly, a small frown on his face. “Uh, I don’t really—”

 

“You know who you should be asking…” Sam said, a tiny hint of an evil grin on his face.

 

“Can it, Sam,” Steve hissed. He swatted somewhat frantically at Sam’s arm, but Sam just grinned harder.

 

“Wait really, man?” Clint twisted awkwardly to look up at Steve. “You’re a fanboy?”

 

“I am n—They're good books!”

 

“He is,” Sam said gleefully. “As soon as he finished reading them, for the fourth time in five weeks might I add, he sat down and tried to figure out where everyone belonged. Made a whole elaborate conspiracy board and everything—”

 

“Shut up, Sam. I did not! Stop—Don’t tell people about that!” That only riled the team up more. Peter was watching it all unfold with a somewhat stunned grin on his face.

 

“He asked me like ten million questions about it!”

 

“You know,” Peter said, muffling his laughter behind a closed smile, “there’s an online quiz for that. Like a pretty official one. Anyone can take it.”

 

Steve turned to look at the kid with wide eyes. “Really?”

 

Peter nodded against Tony’s shoulder. “Uh huh. Pottermore. My friends and I all did it. I’m a Hufflepuff.”

 

Steve nodded, looking like he liked that answer. It didn’t take a ton time knowing Peter to figure out that he fit the description of a Hufflepuff to a tee.

 

The conversation lulled after that, everyone returning to watching the movie except Steve, who was furiously doing something on his phone.

 

(Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed with an Avengers alert, Code Yellow. _Required: Form; Must be completed and reported by Friday at noon._ When he opened the link, it took him to the Pottermore website. Tony rolled his eyes.)

 

They finished up the first _Harry Potter_ and started the second. Peter mumbled sleepy comments to him the entire time, everything from sarcastic comments to passionate observations about the characters and the storytelling. Every one of them pushed _Harry Potter_ deeper into the special place in his heart where all of Peter’s interests lay. Dumb, childish things that he found himself loving, all because Peter loved them.

 

Halfway through the third movie, Peter’s mumbling turned into soft, steady breathing. He didn’t even have to look over at the kid to know what happened, just tugged him tighter into his side.

 

“Night, kiddo,” he muttered, leaning his own cheek over to rest on Peter’s curls. It felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: alien diseases, insomnia, and heartfelt conversations!


	4. alien sneezes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so so not a doctor and there's a good chance i'm describing these symptoms all wrong--please forgive and bear with me if i'm wrong

"An alien sneezed on you?”

 

“ _Yes_. I already told you. Don’t make me repeat it,” Peter grumbled, furiously scrubbing at his face and hair with a spare towel. “It was so gross.” He shuddered at the memory.

 

“It got all in your suit,” Tony said, holding the slimy, discarded thing at arm’s length, looking at it with disgust. Peter didn’t blame him. The thing was nasty. “How’d it get all in your suit?”

 

“It was giant, Mr. Stark. The thing had a huge nose.”

 

“Why were you fighting a giant alien again?”

 

“Miss Natasha invited me!”

 

“Great, I’m so glad you’re friends with the Avengers now while I get to clean up your snot-covered costume.”

 

“I mean, I can clean it. I can figure it out. I know it’s gross, but I—I just thought I should—”

 

“Relax, kid. I’m kidding. You did a good thing. I don’t want you hiding stuff from me, or else you’ll bleed out.” He shot a pointed look at Peter that just felt unnecessary. They’d had this conversation six times already. Peter had already learned his lesson. “We don’t know what sort of side effects could come with you getting doused in buckets of alien mucus.”

 

“Please stop saying mucus. And snot. And everything. Just—let’s never mention it ever again. I don’t want to talk about it. I still feel disgusting.”

 

“Alright, alright. Go take a shower, kid. I’ll make the bots clean this thing. Ugh.”

 

\--

 

It took six hours for Peter to start sneezing.

 

The two of them were watching _Parks and Rec_ when suddenly Peter sneezed violently beside him, barely having time to direct it into the crook of his elbow.

 

Both of them froze.

 

“Kid,” Tony said slowly. “Please tell me you have allergies.”

 

“The bite got rid of all of them,” Peter mumbled.

 

“Is there a bug going around school, then?”

 

Peter shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to catch it anyway. I can’t catch normal diseases.”

 

“What about super alien diseases?”

 

“Those might be a possibility… I’ll be fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter said hurriedly, watching Tony’s eyes start to bug out of his head slightly. “It’s probably just a common cold I can finally catch. No big deal. I’ve had a cold before. I’ll be f—”

He was cut off by another massive sneeze.

 

“Jesus, kid…”

 

“I’m fine!”

 

* * *

 

 

They called May and let her know that Peter was sick, and Tony was relieved when she doesn’t have any problems letting the kid stay over until he feels better. He wanted FRIDAY monitoring his vitals pretty much at all times, just in case. He’s a little in the dark here; they have no idea how this thing is going to progress.

 

“It’ll be fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, sounding pathetically congested and gross. “They sent this guy out to fight, so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

 

“That was a giant alien, Peter. You are a tiny human.”

 

“I’m not tiny, Mr. Stark.” He rolled his eyes and coughed into the crook of his elbow. “Besides, I’ve got superpowers. It’s just a cold.”

 

Tony just grunted and sent the kid to change into his pajamas, despite protests that it was only 6:00.

 

“I know it’s been a while for you,” Tony said, “but being sick means movies and soup and PJs all day. So get on it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Do you even know how to make soup?”

 

“No, but I can order it better than anyone. Go change!”

 

Peter cracked a grin and padded off towards his room, wrapping a blanket from the couch around his shoulders.

 

“FRIDAY, put in an order for some soup. Chicken noodle.”

 

“Got it, Boss.”

 

He looked up at the sound of a loud thump in the hallway. Tony shot to his feet. “Pete? You okay?”

 

He rushed out to find Peter, dressed in his pajamas, half wrapped in his blanket, half clinging to the wall, half slumped on the ground.

 

“What happened?” he asked, falling to his knees beside the kid. He helped him settle into a seated position.

 

Peter’s eyes were glassy and confused and he seemed to sway just slightly. He gripped Tony’s forearms with shaking hands and stared at him unblinking with a pale face.

 

“Talk to me, Pete. What happened?”

 

“I was just walking and—and all of a sudden, I got really dizzy, and—and tired and then I was falling over.”

 

“Anything else? Does anything hurt?”

 

Peter shook his head. “No. No, I just got really tired. I’m still really tired.”

 

“Okay, stay awake, kid. Keep those eyes open.” Peter nodded, even as his whole body slumped forward against Tony’s chest. “FRIDAY, what’s happening to him?”

 

“Mr. Parker’s brain waves are currently similar to that of a person experiencing excessive daytime sleepiness, a common symptom of the sleep disorder narcolepsy.”

 

“Narcolepsy?”

 

“Yes, Boss. His symptoms are similar, not exact. Although it does appear that whatever illness Mr. Parker contracted from that alien is affecting the production of hypocretin in the hypothalamus, in addition to the congestion and the steadily rising fever.”

 

“Not a cold?” Peter mumbled, pushing himself away from Tony’s chest. He was starting to look more alert, although his face was still mostly colorless, and his hands continued to tremble slightly.

 

“Not a cold,” Tony said, smoothing a few curls off of Peter’s forehead gently. “But it’ll be okay. We’re gonna figure this out, okay kid? Is there anything we can do med-wise, FRI?”

 

“I’m not sure, Boss. This is alien. This isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. I’m sorry.”

 

“Right. Okay. Contact Bruce, get him here as soon as possible. You’re gonna be alright, kid.”

 

“I feel fine now, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

 

“Kid—”

 

“Episodes of excessive daytime sleepiness typically do not last longer than a few minutes,” FRIDAY interrupted. “Between EDS episodes, the patient usually experiences normal levels of alertness.”

 

“See? I’m okay now,” Peter said with a wan smile.

 

“Yeah, but you’re still all pale and clammy.”

 

“That’s the fever, Mr. Stark. But honestly, it’s not that bad. I’m just a little cold and gross-feeling.”

 

“Well, we’ve got soup. And more _Parks and Rec_ to watch.”

 

\--

 

Peter passed out three times during their binge-watching session.

 

At first, Tony had figured he was just having another EDS episode, until he looked down at the kid. Peter’s face was pressed awkwardly against Tony’s shoulder, and his arms hung limp at his sides. It was like he was a marionette, and someone had suddenly cut all his strings.

 

“Peter?”

 

Maybe he fell asleep.

 

Gently, Tony maneuvered the kid so his head was in Tony’s lap and he could see the kid’s face. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing gently, so Tony had no reason to assume he hadn’t just fallen asleep.

 

He had FRIDAY turn down the TV volume and dim the lights as he carded his fingers through Peter’s curls and let him sleep. This happy picture lasted for four minutes before Peter’s eyes blinked open and his breathing turned panicked.

 

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” he rasped.

 

“Woah, kid. You’re okay. You’re fine. What happened? Bad dream?”

 

Peter shook his head, sitting up suddenly. Tony reached out a hand to steady him. “No. No. I—I don’t know what that was. I don’t know what happened.”

 

“Take a deep breath, kid. It’s okay. You just fell asleep.”

 

“ _No_. I wasn’t—I wasn’t asleep, Mr. Stark. I—I just suddenly—it was like, suddenly, I couldn’t control my body. I couldn’t move or talk or—or open my eyes. But I wasn’t asleep, Mr. Stark. I—I was awake.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said slowly. “It’s okay. You can move now. You’re in control again, Pete.”

 

“I—I thought it would never end. I thought I might never be able to move again. And—and you wouldn’t even know. I wanted to speak, but—but I couldn’t—I couldn’t move.”

 

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, “Mr. Parker’s description is similar to that of cataplexy, another symptom of narcoleptic sleep disorder. More severe instances of cataplexy are characterized by a lack of muscle control and resulting collapse. Cataplexy attacks aren’t harmful in themselves, so long as the patient is in a safe location.”

 

“Severe cataplexy?” Tony asked, wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulders and offering a comforting squeeze.

 

“Yes, Boss. Mild attacks involve minor muscle weakness, such as the eyelids drooping without their control.”

 

“I—I think that stuff happened too,” Peter whispered. “Just a couple times, but—but I felt weird a couple times and—and my eyes closed on their own. I thought it was just sleepiness though. I didn’t know it was… that.”

 

“Any word on Bruce, FRI?” He felt completely out of his element, and he hated knowing that something was happening to Peter, something scary and potentially dangerous, and he had no idea what to do about it.

 

“Yes, Boss. He’s on his way to the compound now. He should arrive tomorrow morning around nine.”

 

Tony met Peter’s fearful expression. “And that’s the earliest he can get here?”

 

“Yes, Boss. But so far, none of Mr. Parker’s symptoms appear fatal. For the time being, you should just keep your eye on the fever—which has leveled off at 99.7, low-grade and not dangerous—and do your best to make sure Mr. Parker is safe should he experience any more attacks of EDS or cataplexy.”

 

“Right. Alright. You got that, kid? We can hang in there until Bruce gets here tomorrow.”

 

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Let’s just keep watching. This is such a good episode, Mr. Stark. You’re gonna love it. April and Andy—well, you’ll just have to watch it.”

 

“Alright, alright. I’m watching.”

 

When the next cataplexy attack happened, he tried to curb his racing pulse. He couldn’t show the kid he was panicking, not when Peter came out of them shaking and terrified each time. Bruce could not get there fast enough.

 

\--

 

Around 10:30, Tony figured it was time for Peter to head to bed. The combination of the fever and the attacks were leaving him more and more shaky and wilted.

 

“C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get you to bed.”

 

Peter blinked up at him and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said, after a long sniff.

 

“And hey, when you wake up, Bruce will be here. And hopefully he can find some answers for us.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter said, smiling now. “Yeah.”

 

Tony was always taken back with how much faith Peter seemed to have in him. All he had to say was that they were going to figure this out, that Bruce would know what to do (even though Tony had no reason to believe Bruce would understand anything about this), and that was that for Peter. If Tony said he could find a way to fix him, that basically became fact for Peter.

 

“Alright, spider-baby. Let’s go get some real sleep.”

 

\--

 

Tony woke up in the dark. For once, he was pretty sure it wasn’t because of a nightmare, but he didn’t know what it was. His dream was already forgotten, so he sunk back into the pillow. Except, something was buzzing at the edge of his hearing, soft noises he could barely hear, voices he couldn’t make out.

 

Now he was awake.

 

Rolling out of bed, he inched towards the sounds, ready to go on the offensive at any moment. Slinking into the living room, he comes face to face with Peter, face illuminated by the TV, hair a mess, bags under his eyes, definitely not sleeping.

 

“Pete?” he asked groggily, dropping his fighting stance. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said. He sounded miserable. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

 

“You—Why are you up? It’s—” he checked his watch, “four a.m. And you’re sick.”

 

“I—I know. I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t sleep.”

 

Tony blinked. The kid was passing out without his own consent all day long, but now that it’s actually time for him to get some rest, he can’t sleep?

 

“I tried,” Peter said quickly. “I really tried, but I just couldn’t sleep. I’d finally manage it and then I’d wake up thirty minutes later, and after a while I just couldn’t take it anymore, so I came out here. I’m sorry.”

 

“FRIDAY?” Tony asked softly, keeping his gaze steady on Peter and moving to sit down next to him on the couch. “Is insomnia ever associated with narcolepsy.”

 

“It’s quite possible, Boss. Mr. Parker’s sleep-wake cycle is highly disturbed at the moment. It is most likely inhibiting his ability to sleep soundly at night.”

 

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Tony said, hugging the kid’s shoulder. Peter curled up against his side instinctively.

 

“’S not your fault,” Peter mumbled. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

 

“Hey, hey. None of that. It’s fine. I don’t need much sleep anyways. I slept all the way through the night the past three days. It was time for a break anyways.”

 

He tried to joke, but Peter just looks even more miserable. “Mr. Stark…”

 

“Look, kid. I’m not gonna leave you alone to be all miserable. What sort of mentor would that make me?”

 

Peter’s smile was small, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes or light up his face the way they usually did, but he curled closer to Tony and murmured a soft, “Thank you, Mr. Stark. I—I hate this.”

 

“I know, kiddo. I know. I’m sorry.”

 

They stayed like that for a while, curled together, watching old episodes of _Friends_ , Tony blinking his drowsiness away, until finally, _finally_ Peter fell asleep for real around seven a.m.

 

When FRIDAY announced Bruce’s arrival a couple hours later, Tony wanted to let the kid keep sleeping. According to FRIDAY, he’d slept for a total of three hours and fifteen minutes all night, and he hated the idea of waking him up when he was finally managing to get some rest.

 

But fear won out. Because as much as he wanted the kid to get to sleep, he’d been growing increasingly fearful of the alien sickness coursing through Peter. If Peter was in danger, and he didn’t get the kid checked out right away, he’d never forgive himself.

 

“Hey, hey, kiddo,” he said, gently shaking Peter’s shoulder.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Hey, sorry. I know you were sleeping. But Bruce’s here. And he brought someone.”

 

“Huh? What? Who?” Peter sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he surveyed the room, eyes going wide when he lands on the two newcomers in the room.

 

Sitting across the table from Peter were Bruce Banner—who Peter liked and admired and was fairly comfortable with—and Thor—who Peter had always thought was incredibly impressive. If the way he was frantically trying to tame his curls and clear the sleepiness from his face was anything to go off of, he was clearly very self-conscious about looking like this in front of his godly childhood hero.

 

“H—Hey, Dr. Banner. Mr. Thor.”

 

“Hi, Peter,” Bruce said kindly. “I heard you’re sick.”

 

Peter nodded jerkily.

 

“Well, I’ll do whatever I can to help, but I’m certainly not an expert in anything alien, so I brought Thor to see if he can’t fill in any blanks.”

 

Peter nodded again, seemingly incapable of doing anything else.

 

“Can you tell me the symptoms?” Bruce asked.

 

“Uh, congestion, low fever, episodes of drowsiness and cataplexy,” Tony supplied. “Oh, and restlessness at night.”

 

“Could you describe the ill creature you encountered?” Thor asked.

 

“Yeah,” Peter said. “It was big, and—and green, and scaly. And it had these claws, and—”

 

Thor nodded. “I know of that species. And if they sent one of their warriors out with this ailment, it is likely that there is some sort of treatment. I will go to their realm and speak with their healers, and hopefully bring back a cure.”

 

Peter’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to go all the way to another planet? Mr. Thor, you don’t have to—”

 

“Relax, Pete,” Tony said. “He’s got a magic axe. It’ll take him straight there. Easier than walking to the pharmacy.”

 

“Really?” Peter asked.

 

Thor smiled. “It’s true. My axe can summon the Bifrost and transport me where I need to go. Of course, it is never a burden to assist a fellow warrior.”

 

Peter’s eyes bugged out even more and Tony had to stifle a laugh. Peter wouldn’t know that Tony bragged about him to the other Avengers all the time. He had no idea that Thor was already impressed with Peter.

 

“Will you accompany me, Banner?” Thor asked. “You’re more well-versed in the issues of medicine.”

 

“Of course,” Bruce said, standing. “We’ll see you soon, Peter. Tony, keep an eye on him.”

 

“Of course. Good luck.”

 

“Thanks, Dr. Banner,” Peter said. “And Mr. Thor. Thank you.”

 

“We’ll be back soon,” Bruce said. Thor set a hand on the other man’s shoulder and the two were gone in a burst of color, before Tony could protest that Thor was going to ruin his floors.

 

“Damn,” he said, looking down at the scorched carpet. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

 

“Am I dreaming?” Peter asked, dazed-sounding. “Am I hallucinating, or was Thor just here?”

 

“He was here, kid. And he ruined my carpet!” Tony sighed. “You think you can go back to sleep, Pete?”

 

Peter thought for a moment, before shaking his head. “No. I mean, I can try…”

 

“No, no. It’s okay. If you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep. You hungry?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“That’s not the answer I was looking for. You have to eat something.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I take that back. I’m starving. Food is all I can think about—”

 

“Alright, Pete. Shut up. You don’t have to eat much, but you have to eat something.”

 

\--

 

They fell into a sort-of routine: eating and relaxing on the couch, watching whatever sitcom popped into Peter’s head, Tony comforting Peter when the sleepiness hits him and catching him when his muscles give out. May came and ate dinner with them and shared her work gossip and kissed Peter’s forehead. Overall, it wasn’t bad. It was lazy and warm, and Peter started coming out of the cataplexy attacks less freaked out. He still clung to Tony; as soon as his fingers would move, he twisted them into the hem of Tony’s shirt, but he looked up at him with a weak smile now, and Tony felt a bit better knowing he can offer the kid some level of comfort.

 

Bruce and Thor returned late in the evening with a bottle of medicine and instructions to drink it every four hours. Bruce thought it would take about a week for Peter to get through it, but at least they know he’ll be okay.

_He’ll be fine._

 

The trouble was nighttime.

 

The medicine was helping. Peter’s fever went down and some of his congestion cleared and the daytime episodes became fewer, but at night, he was restless and unable to sleep for long. He’d managed to hit a personal best of one hour and forty-six minutes, but nothing more.

 

Peter was miserable, and Tony _hated it_.

 

So he stayed up with kid, no matter how tired he started to get. (He found himself napping a decent amount during the day, but Peter just kept saying that he needed sleep anyways, and he already felt bad for keeping him up at night.) He tried to keep Peter entertained so the sickness wouldn’t creep up on him.

 

Each night, he sent Peter to bed to try and sleep, only to have FRIDAY alert him when the kid grew too restless to keep trying. (He could tell Peter felt bad about keeping him up, and he waited probably longer than he really should have to alert Tony, but Tony just wanted to help the kid feel better. He would do everything he could for that kid.) Then, he and Peter would find something to do together to pass the time.

 

The first night, they went to the lab and tried to work, but that fell apart fairly quickly when they realized that they were both just a little too out of it to get anything done well (or safely). Peter had suggested they organize instead, which turned out to be the most fun Tony had ever had cleaning. In the early morning, Peter curled up on the tiles and managed to get a few hours in.

 

The next night, they baked. Neither of them was great, but Peter at least could follow a recipe. Two pans of brownies, a Bundt cake, and five batches of cookies—all in one night. Towards the end, Peter started getting creative with the cookies. (Note: chocolate cookies with marshmallows and gummy worms—not bad, but maybe that was just the drowsiness talking.)

 

Then, they played music. Tony tried to teach Peter the piano for a while before the kid ran off and grabbed his clarinet, deciding the two of them should figure out some duets. Tony hadn’t played the piano in a while, since it always reminded him of his mother, and he certainly hadn’t expected the next time he played to be him stumbling through simple tunes with a kid and a clarinet, but it was fun. And Peter wasn’t half bad. He made a note to go to more of the kid’s band concerts.

 

The next day, Peter had a record minimum of cataplexy attacks, and when Tony sent him to bed, he stayed there and asleep for a grand total of four hours. When FRIDAY woke him up, Tony found Peter still in his bed.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, sitting down next to Peter on the bed and brushing a few stray curls off of his face. “Four whole hours, huh? Good job.”

 

Peter smiled up at him lazily. “I’m getting good at this.”

 

“So, what do you want to do, Pete? You’re still looking pretty tired. TV maybe?”

 

Peter shook his head. “No. Can we—can we just stay here? Please? And talk?”

 

“Yeah, kid. Of course.”

 

They get settled in: Tony propped up on the pillows, Peter’s head in his lap, both of them wrapped in an abundance of blankets. Gently, Tony carded his fingers through Peter’s hair and listens to him speak with a smile on his face. He could tell the kid was sleepy by the way he talked and the way his eyelids dropped every so often, and he’s happy that the kid’s schedule is finally starting to get back to normal. The medicine Bruce and Thor dropped off is working like a charm.

 

Peter talked for a while—about school, about Spider-Man, about where he wanted to go to college and what he wanted to do when he got older; he even brought up Ben somewhere along the way, something he rarely ever did. Tony listened to it all, until somewhere around five a.m., Peter’s eyes drooped shut and the sentence he was in the middle of trailed off into slow, steady breathing. Tony didn’t stop messing with his hair; he knew it calmed the kid down, and the last thing he wanted was to be the reason Peter woke up.

 

He did eventually wake up—the restless wasn't totally gone yet—but when he did, it was lazy and Peter smiled again.

 

"Hey, Mis'r Stark. I fell asleep?"

 

"Sure did, kiddo. Right in the middle of your story about your first band competition. You want to finish it?"

 

Peter frowned. "I don't remember what I was saying."

 

"Well, if you want, you can start over. I don't mind."

 

The kid shook his head. “No, I’ve been talking f’r a long time, Mis’r Stark. It's your turn now.”

 

“My turn?”

 

“Mhm. Your turn. I know you’ve got good stories.”

 

Tony huffed out a laugh. “My stories are not for your young ears, spider-baby.”

 

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes. “Just talk about something, Mr. Stark.”

 

He did have something, something he’d been wanting to tell Peter for a while, but he hadn’t gotten up the courage to say it yet. The whole idea was a little scary and sharing it with someone else just made it all the more real.

 

But those past few days, it had started getting less scary. He wanted to tell Peter.

 

“You know,” Tony said softly, working his fingers through a particularly tangled curl, “I have something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

 

“What is it?” Peter asked, blinking up at him with wide eyes.

 

Tony smiled gently at him. “It’s not bad news, kiddo. Just… big news.”

 

“Good big news?”

 

“Good big news. I think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is good. It’s certainly big.”

 

“Well, what is it?”

 

He clenched his jaw tightly and tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. Still, he couldn’t stop the growing grin on his face. And Peter just smiled back, because when Tony was happy, it made him happy—the kid was just good like that.

 

Telling Peter felt right. He didn’t feel scared anymore.

 

“Pepper’s pregnant.”

 

It took the kid a moment to process, but once he did, his face lit up brighter than Tony had ever seen it. Peter shot up suddenly, fully awake now and clutching at Tony’s forearms.

 

“Are you serious? Mr. Stark, you’re gonna be a dad?”

 

Tony grinned so hard it made his cheeks ache, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. His little family was growing and Peter was happy and that’s all he could have ever asked for.

 

Did it kind of suck that Peter was sick, and Tony was exhausted, sure. But Peter was going to be fine, and Tony was going to have another kid in his life. Two little geniuses that he could love with everything he had, who could make his life happier than he ever thought possible. He wanted Peter to be a part of it all. He’d be a great role model, a great… big brother.

 

And that thought didn’t scare him. If Peter wanted to be a part of this, like Tony was pretty sure he would, he couldn’t imagine a better family.

 

Having Peter in his life didn’t scare him. Having this baby didn’t scare him. Having a family _didn’t scare him_.

 

“Yeah. I’m gonna be a dad.”

 

“Oh my god! That’s amazing! Congratulations, Mr. Stark!” Peter flung himself into Tony’s chest, wrapping his arms into a tight hug. “Can I babysit?”

 

Tony laughed. “Of course, kid. I can’t think of anyone better.”

And he couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! kudos and comments bring a huge smile to my face, so please share what you think!
> 
> Next up: the chapter I'm most excited to write--get ready for some whump and angst


	5. cell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: this chapter contains description of torture and violence--it's not overly graphic, but stay safe! I know the premise of this whole fic seems relatively fluffy, so if the whump and angst isn't what you're here for, you may want to skip this chapter!

The stupid cell was dark and dirty, and Tony’s face stung like a bitch from that last punch, but overall, not the worst kidnapping he’s suffered through.

 

His kidnappers were honestly, at least so far, kind of tame. They’d chained one wrist to the wall, broken the other, hit him a few times, told him _you will learn_ between punches, and it’s possible he had a couple cracked ribs, but they’d also fed him, and he had a semi-comfy bed. In between beatings, it was almost like he was on vacation. Almost.

 

That is, until they got bored or realized that Tony wasn’t really getting the gist of whatever he was supposed to be learning. That’s when the main guy came back, and instead of bringing along his lackeys to hold Tony down so he could start swinging. He just stood there, in the door, and glared.

 

“You take and you take,” the man spat. “Human lives, _innocent_ lives. You watch them die and you feel no remorse.”

 

“No,” Tony said, glaring and shaking his head. “I feel every death I’ve played a part in and I struggle with that guilt every—”

 

“You don’t feel what we feel!” the man roared. “You can’t understand, Stark. You haven’t lost enough.” Then, he stopped and met Tony’s gaze with a cold, blank stare. “You will.”

 

He left, and Tony’s veins filled with ice.

 

\--

 

When the man came back, he wasn’t alone. Behind him trailed two other men, dragging a limp form between them, someone with tattered clothes and a dark sack over their head.

 

“What makes him evil, is that Tony Stark does indeed have a heart,” the first man said. “He does. He feels, and he cares, and he loves—but only certain people. If you aren’t good enough to get into Tony Stark’s inner circle, well then you might as well be the dirt beneath his feet.”

 

Tony stared at the person they’ve dragged in. The more he looked, the more he tried to see past the dirt and the blood on their clothes, the more he realized he recognized that shirt. He knew that logo.

 

“This is about me,” Tony said. “You don’t need to involve anyone else. Your problem is with me.”

 

“It is,” the man said, his smile reminiscent of a hungry shark. “And I am a bit sorry about this, but it’s the only way for you to understand. It’s the only way for you to learn.”

 

He walked over and tore the sack off, revealing the face Tony had been dreading.

 

Peter was unconscious, his hairline matted with blood, his cheeks and eyes dark with bruises. He’d been there, in some other dark cell, alone and suffering. All because of Tony.

 

“Peter,” he whispered, then louder, to their kidnappers, “Leave him alone. He’s just a kid. I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone.”

 

“I know, Stark,” the first man said. “That’s why it has to be him.”

 

“No, it doesn’t have to be him. I get it. I’ve learned. Just leave him out of this.”

 

The man cracked a sad smile. “He’s drugged pretty hard. Keeps him kind of out of it. Keeps him easy to contain. It shouldn’t stop him from feeling everything.” He shot a glance over his shoulder at the men holding Peter. “Break something to wake him up.”

 

“No, no, no!” Tony protested, but it fell on deaf ears. One of the men grabbed Peter’s right arm.

 

The snap that resulted made Tony’s stomach churn dangerously. The gasping scream that Peter let out was even worse.

 

Peter was panting, trying to catch his breath. Tony could tell he wanted to cry—his eyes were shining—but he didn’t, and a twinge of pride blossomed in Tony’s chest.

 

“Mr. Stark?” the kid gasped, his gaze settling on Tony. “I’m so sorry. I’m—”

 

“Hey, hey.” Tony locked eyes with him. He wanted Peter to focus on just him, not the cell or the men or his horribly swelling arm, just him. “It’s gonna be okay, kid. I promise. We’re gonna be okay.”

 

“Aw, that’s sweet,” the asshole crooned. “But the people you hurt, Stark, the lives you ruined—they never had a chance. They lost everything, and you will too.”

 

“Mr. Stark is a hero, you asshat,” Peter snarled. “He saves lives.”

 

“He saves the lives he cares about. He’s not a hero, he’s a selfish coward pretending to be one.”

 

Peter shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

 

The asshole grinned. “Go ahead,” he told his men.

 

“No!” Tony yelled, tugging hard on the chain that held him fast against the wall. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want—however much money—”

 

“You can’t buy your way out of this!” the man screamed.

 

One of the other men snapped one of Peter’s fingers—his right index finger—and the kid cried out.

 

“Stop!”

 

“There is no stopping this,” the man hissed.

 

“You’re not gonna break us,” Peter panted. “There’s no ending to this where you win. People are gonna come for us, the Avengers. And they’re gonna kick your—AHH!”

 

Peter’s brave, stupid rant was cut off when one of the men slammed his boot into the side of the kid’s shin. The bone snapped, and Peter’s leg was suddenly the wrong shape. Bile filled Tony’s mouth and he turned his head to the side to spit it out.

 

When he looked back again, Peter had collapsed, the only thing keeping him off the ground was one of the men gripping his arms. Another man drove fist after fist and heel after heel into the kid’s stomach, occasionally interspersing the beating with a kick to the face or the side. Peter groaned and cried, but he didn’t let up. Blood ran down his chin from his nose and his mouth and his eyes had turned half-lidded and glazed-over.

 

Tony wanted to cry. “Peter…” he whispered. No one could hear him, not over the other horrible sounds in the cell. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Pete. I’m so sorry.”

 

It seemed like it would never end, but eventually they stopped. Two of the men scooped Peter up off the ground and threw him on the ground in front of Tony. He lunged to try and catch the kid, but he was just out of his reach. That didn’t stop him from practically tearing his arm out of its socket to try and reach the kid.

 

“He’s going to die anyways,” the first man said. One of the men who beat Peter walked over to the chain that held Tony and unlocked it. Tony dropped to his knees and scrambled over towards Peter. Peter tried to crawl towards him as well, but was barely able to lift himself onto one elbow before he collapsed back onto the floor.

 

“Internal bleeding,” the man continued. His lackeys left. “His super healing is the only thing slowing it down enough to keep him alive for a while. Yes, Stark. I know he’s your pet spider. I know that for a long time, he only mattered to you because he’s useful. It was selfish of you to learn to care for him.”

 

“You’re not going to die, Pete,” Tony murmured, pulling the kid into his lap and gently brushing his hair off of his forehead. “You’re not going to die. I promise.”

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. See, he’s already dying. But the thing is, the way he’s going now is too simple. Too easy. I’ll be back tomorrow. You have tonight, Stark. One more night, before I come back and I make this as painful as possible. Have a good night. It’ll be your last.”

 

With only one functioning arm, he couldn’t lift Peter onto the cot, not without doing more harm than good, so he settled himself against the wall and tugged Peter up next to him. The kid was buried against his side, breaths hitching as tried to hold in sobs and catch his breath with a mangled torso. Tony pulled him close, and as Peter let his head fall against his collarbone, he realized he was the only thing holding the kid up.

 

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” Tony rasped. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Peter shook his head weakly. “’S not your fault. ‘S them. Psychopaths.”

 

“Everything’s going to be okay, kid. I’m not going to let them hurt you again. And you are not going to die. Just hold on for me, okay?”

 

The kid nodded. “You’re a hero, Mr. Stark. Don’t—don’t forget that, alright? In case—”

 

“ _No_ , Pete. No _just-in-case_ s. No _buts_. You are going to be okay.”

 

He said it more to try and convince himself, but he couldn’t stop the dread and the fear growing inside of him. He clung to Peter like he might disappear from his arms for the last time at any moment.

 

He had no plan, no ideas. When the men came back, there would be nothing he could do to save Peter. He was failing him.

 

“I—That control panel,” Peter said, his voice barely a whisper, but Tony was clinging so tightly to his every word that it might as well be the only sound in existence. “The one by the door. I know you can hack it, Mr. Stark. You aren’t chained up anymore. You can get the door open.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony said softly, murmuring into Peter’s hair. “Yeah, I could, kiddo. And I wish it was an option. I wish I could get us out of here, but I can’t, kid, and I’m so sorry.”

 

Peter didn’t even look at him. He just sagged harder against his side. “Why?”

 

“My arm is broken, Pete, and you can’t walk. I can’t carry you and fight our way out of here at the same time. I’m so sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Why are you sorry, kid? This is all—”

 

“You can still fight. You can get out of here. Mr. Stark, you’re the smartest, bravest person I know. You could do it. You should—you should go.”

 

“I told you. I can’t carry you.”

 

“Then you should leave me.”

 

The world froze. The temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees as everything came to a grinding halt. He wasn’t even able to process Peter’s words, he just knew that every molecule in his body was screaming that something was _bad_ , something was _wrong._

 

“Wha—” His brain was running on instinct, spitting out the most natural reaction. Peter had reduced his thoughts to a haze of panic and disbelief.

 

“You should just leave me. You can get out of here, Mr. Stark. You can go. I can’t be the reason you stay here.”

 

“Peter, I am not leaving you.”

 

“You have a kid coming, Mr. Stark. They—they need you. Ms. Potts needs you. I can’t be the thing that ruins your chance to have a family.”

 

“Peter—”

 

“You mean too much to me, Mr. Stark. I can’t let you stay here and—and die, while your family—your _kid_ waits for you to come home. They need you. They need you more than anyone needs me.”

 

“Peter, what the hell do you think May would do if she heard you saying that, huh? Bullshit. Everything that came out of your mouth just now—pure bullshit.”

 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gazed up at him with a sad smile. “It’s okay. I won’t blame you. May won’t blame you. You should go home to your kid.”

 

“My kid,” he said, pouring everything he had into his words, “is _right here._ Peter, I will _never_ leave you. _Ever._ _I_ need you, kid. It scares me how much I need you. Peter, I can’t stand the thought of going home to a family that you’re not a part of. You’re my kid too, Peter. And honestly, I don’t think I could live without you. I know you’ve got all those drugs still in your system, but I need you to understand: _I will never leave you._ ”

 

Shakily, Tony took a deep breath. He looked down, meeting Peter’s watery, wide-eyed stare. “I love you, kiddo.”

 

For a moment, they stayed frozen like that. Peter, looking up at him in utter disbelief, Tony smiling down at him and ignoring the burn of tears in his eyes.

 

Then, Peter broke the stillness. He lurched sideways, burying his face in Tony’s collarbone. Tony could feel Peter’s tears soaking into his shirt, he could feel Peter shaking his head and sobbing and pressing himself as close as possible.

 

“No,” Peter said. “No, Tony, please. Please leave. Please. I don’t want you to be here when they come back, Mr. Stark. I don’t want you to see this.” He hugged Tony tighter, fingers digging almost painfully into his back.

 

“Never,” Tony said. “Not a chance in hell, Pete. Not a chance. I won’t leave you here alone.”

 

Peter sobbed. “Please, Tony. My parents… Ben… I can’t lose another—I can’t lose you too. I’m not worth it.”

 

“You are. I love you, kid, and I’m not going anywhere without you.” It was so easy to say it now. It hadn’t been before, but now it came naturally.

 

“I love you,” Peter gasped between hitching sobs. “I love you. Please, Mr. Stark. I can’t—”

 

“I’m not going to die, Pete. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I promised I wouldn’t leave you. I’m going to stay right here where I can do everything I can to protect you. Where we can protect each other.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“No, kid. It’s not your fault. This is my choice. I’m going to stay here and do my damn best to keep us safe. You’re my kid, Pete. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

It’s a promise he can’t keep, and he knew it, but damn if he wouldn’t try. Nothing in this damn universe was going to take his kid away from him now. Not without one hell of a fight.

 

He held Peter as his sobs died down, as his breathing slowly evened out, until Peter’s head lolled slightly to the side and Tony knew he was asleep. With his one good hand, he repositioned them so he could support Peter’s head, lightly running his thumb through his greasy curls. He pressed his kid tightly against his chest, as if he could keep him there, safe from the rest of the world.

 

\--

 

He heard them coming. Heavy footsteps, loud and angry. They were coming back.

 

They were coming for Peter.

 

The kid was still asleep or passed out—Tony wasn’t even sure anymore. He had a pulse, thrumming steadily against Tony’s chest, and that’s all that mattered.

 

Tony held him tighter. They wouldn’t take Peter. He wouldn’t let them. They’d have to pry the kid from his cold, dead hands.

 

And then they’d have him. And Peter would be all alone.

 

Mind buzzing with an endless stream of hopeless ideas, Tony peppered kiss after kiss against the top of Peter’s head. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry.”

 

He was helpless.

 

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and planted one last long kiss on Peter’s forehead as the door to their cell was thrown open with a bang. He held Peter to his chest with every bit of strength he had left.

 

“—y! Tones! C’mon, man. Eyes up.”

 

He blinked, forcing his blurry vision to clear. Rhodey crouched in front of him, helmet of his armor open, arms outstretched.

 

“Give him to me, Tones. We need to get you guys out of here.”

 

What if he wasn’t real? What if—

 

“Tones! Come on!”

 

Tony nodded. Handing Peter over to Rhodey was like handing over a piece of his heart, but he did it anyway.

 

“Alright,” Rhodey said. “Can you walk?” Tony nodded. “Then let’s go. I’m gonna get you both out of here, okay? You’re going to be okay.”

 

They stumbled their way through dark hallways and Tony could hear the shouts and sounds of violence as someone—presumably Vision—picked off the rest of their captors. No one bothered them, except one guard who Rhodey shot down before he could even alert his friends.

 

Once outside, Rhodey’s faceplate opened again and he turned to face Tony. “I need to get him medical attention, Tony. Stay here. Vision will take care of the rest of them, and he can help get you home. Just wait a little longer.”

 

Tony’s arms reached for Peter before he realized how childish he must have looked. He didn’t care.

 

“I told him I wouldn’t leave him.”

 

“You’re not leaving him. He needs medical attention.”

 

“You don’t understand! I said I wouldn’t leave him! I told him I wouldn’t leave him alone!”

 

He lunged towards Peter’s still form, but Rhodey drew back. “I’m sorry, Tones. But we have to go. I’m sorry.”

 

“No. Peter!”

 

He watched them go until Rhodey’s armor wasn’t even a speck of grey against the horizon, then he fell to his knees, surrounded by silence and the horrible feeling of being alone.

 

\--

 

When he finally made it back to the compound, Peter was in surgery. He waited, ducking doctors who wanted to get him checked out beyond the makeshift splint Vision had put on his arm. May sat on one side of him, Pepper on the other. It was a comfort he didn’t deserve.

 

Pepper squeezed Tony’s knee, stopping him from bouncing it in a fit of anxiety.

 

"He's gonna be okay," May said quietly. She hadn't looked up from her lap once since sitting down.

 

Tony just inhaled shakily. He was having a hard time moving beyond the idea that someone was coming to kill Peter. Peter wasn't here and he wasn't safe and he was going to die because of Tony.

 

"He's alive, Tony," Pepper said. "And the doctors are going to fix him up."

 

"It's my fault," Tony said. "They wanted to hurt me, so they took it out on him."

 

"It's not your fault," May said, and Tony looked up in surprise to see her watching him. "It's not your fault those guys were psychopaths."

 

"Peter said something similar," Tony said with an empty chuckle.

 

"He's a smart kid," May said. "We both know that. And he's right. You and Peter are good for each other. He cares about you and you care about him. Don't let someone twist that. Don't blame yourself."

 

"He asked me to leave him."

 

May was silent for a moment. "Well," she sniffed. "You didn't. Thank you."

 

"I wouldn't leave him."

 

"We know, honey," Pepper said. May nodded.

 

\--

 

Tony and May took shifts sitting next to Peter's bed while he slept. The doctors assured them that the coma just meant his body was giving itself some time to heal, but it didn't stop Tony from noting that sleep looked a whole lot like death.

 

He clung to the sound of the heart rate monitor.

 

It was three days later and Tony was dozing in the chair next to Peter's bed when there was a change. Tony's eyes flew open and he shot up in his seat, looking over to see Peter's head turned towards him.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark.”

 

Peter’s eyes weren’t even open, not really, but he was smiling, and his hand was reaching out for Tony. He grabbed hold without a moment’s hesitation.

 

“Hey, kiddo. You’re good. You’re safe.”

 

Peter nodded. “Th-thanks,” he said. “For not leaving me.”

 

“Never, kiddo. I’ll never leave you alone.”

 

Peter smiled, and Tony could tell he was slipping back to sleep. “Good,” he whispered. “I don’t ever want you to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> please come yell at me in the comments--i crave validation <3
> 
> (also, i'm planning my next fic--spiders can't thermoregulate--and it got so whumpy so fast, so keep your eye out/subscribe if that's something you're interested in!)
> 
> next up here: fluff, i promise <3


	6. family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand here's the last chapter! a little short, but hopefully very, very sweet!

Tony hadn’t always wanted children. In fact, for most of his life, he was very, very against the idea. Howard had been a shitty parent, and that sort of thing tended to leave some pretty deep scars.

 

He was terrified that he’d just end up the same way. And he couldn’t do that—he couldn’t bring a kid into this world just to fuck it up.

No, if Tony wanted to do any sort of good in this world, he wouldn’t have a kid.

 

Except the universe threw one at him anyway.

 

Peter—all brightness and goodness and light and bravery. He didn’t mean to love Peter. He didn’t mean to claim him as a part of his family. Of course he didn’t. That would just ruin Peter—the last person on Earth who deserved to have his life destroyed by Tony Stark.

 

But for some reason, Peter stuck around, and what’s more, he actually seemed to want to. As they’d grown closer, Tony slowly began to realize that maybe he was doing okay. He could see Peter’s growth with his own two eyes and he felt pride. And Peter smiled at him and came to him with some of his problems and seemed genuinely happy in Tony’s presence.

 

They were good for each other, Tony was pretty sure. Pep and Rhodey and even May seemed to insist so, but still lingering in the back of his mind was Howard’s voice, reminding him of who he was destined to be.

 

But then in a white hospital room, coming away from the brink of death, Peter had all but told him. And again, trapped in a dark cell, clinging to each other because it was all they had left, it had become so painfully obvious that Tony might as well have been hit by a brick wall.

 

A brick wall that read: _Hey you idiots, you see each other as family. You love each other like family._

He was a father figure, and he had been for a decent while, maybe without even noticing it.

 

And something in Tony felt deeply relieved, because he’d already taken to thinking of the kid as a son, but if Peter thought of him as like a parent, then he didn’t have to worry so damn much about it. He loved Peter and Peter loved him and that was that.

 

Peter made him realize that he wasn’t Howard, and he never would be, and somewhere along the way, he’d stopped hating the idea of having a baby with Pepper. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. He wasn’t Howard and he never would be.

 

Then Morgan came into his life—into their lives—a noisy, adorable, moody, gross, beautiful, perfect baby girl. A tiny little bundle of a human that Tony absolutely adored.

 

Peter was a godsend. Tony had seen firsthand and through the Baby Monitor protocol just how good Pete was with kids, and apparently infants were no exception, even baby Stark children who were just as stubborn as their fathers.

 

Morgan never cried for Peter. It was like somehow, she already knew that he was her big brother, in every way except biologically. It was one of the greatest feelings in the world, knowing Morgan would always be loved. So, so loved.

 

He needed her to know she was loved. He needed that for both of his kids.

 

It had been months, but at night, he could still sometimes hear the echoes of Peter sobbing for him to abandon him in that cell, saying that he wasn’t important, as if Tony’s whole world wouldn’t implode without Peter. He made a promise to himself to make sure Peter always knew he was a part of this little family Tony had concocted. And he made a promise that Morgan would never, ever feel that way. If there was one thing he _didn’t_ want Morgan to get from Peter, it was his lack of self-preservation and that massive guilt complex.

 

They were working on it.

Slowly. Together.

 

Morgan’s existence turned their weekly sci fi movie marathons into Disney nights, something Peter didn’t seem to mind too much, although he kept insisting that you’re never too young to get into Star Wars. Tony had convinced him to wait on that one until Morgan was old enough for Peter to give her a proper education (the same one he himself received over a year ago). He could Peter was already planning on making his child as nerdy possible, which was far from a bad thing.  He could imagine his two little dorks running around and causing chaos together and he loved it.

 

Morgan would have the childhood he never really got. Her parents and her honorary big brother would see to that, he had no doubts.

 

They were currently on their fourth Disney movie of the day and Morgan had drifted off in his arms. Peter, who had been curled up on the couch next to him since the moment they finished dinner, was starting to drift lazily against his shoulder. Pepper sat on his other side, asleep, hand still gripped loosely in Tony’s.

 

Tony didn’t know he could feel this _complete_.

 

“I need to get the baby to bed,” he murmured, although a large part of him absolutely did not want to move from this spot, ever.

 

But he was a full-blown parent now. Peter—Peter had mostly been raised for him. His parents for a short time, then May and Ben for longer. Tony would bet his entire fortune, his company, and all of his suits that no one on this planet had ever raised a better kid.

 

And Tony was happy to step up in other areas. May was raising Peter, just like she’d always been, and she was doing one hell of a job. Tony had started out, in a sense, raising Spider-Man, providing Peter with superhero guidance, and superhero guidance only.

 

Now… well, they’d evolved well beyond that.

 

Peter was his kid, and he was more than happy to be there for every possible moment of the kid’s future.

 

And now he had another one, one he’d get to be there for for every single moment.

 

The future he saw for himself—Morgan’s first steps, her first words, Peter’s band concerts and graduation, Morgan’s first day at school, helping her with her homework, moving Peter into college, countless birthdays and science fairs and recitals—he’d never wanted something so badly.

 

He was so, so ready to be a parent.

And that meant being responsible and getting his kiddos to bed. He’d come back for Pep after.

 

“’M not a baby, Mis’r Stark,” Peter said drowsily against his shoulder. Tony was surprised to see his bleary eyes still focused heavily on _Tangled._

 

Tony chuckled lightly. “For once, underoos, I wasn’t talking about you.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said. He sat up slowly and blinked lazily down at the sleeping baby in Tony’s arms, face and expression of warm affection. “You’re being very responsible.”

 

“Mhm,” Tony hummed. “You should hit the hay too, spiderling. Natasha told me she’s got something special planned for your training tomorrow and that sounds exhausting just thinking about it.”

 

“Wait, did she say what?”

 

“Nope. But it can’t be a walk in the park, that’s for sure. Good luck.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Peter yawned. “Miss Natasha loves me. Maybe she really will take me… Take me to the park.” He was practically nodding off between each word.

 

“Alright, kiddo. Sure. Time for bed anyway. You’re practically asleep already.”

 

Peter yawned again and stood up, stretching. “Hmm. You might be right.”

 

“I’m always right.”

 

“Usually,” Peter agreed.

 

Tony got off the couch as well and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder to steady him as he guides him to his room. The kid was walking with his eyes practically closed and he nearly fell flat on his face when he tripped on the leg of his pants, but Tony made sure to keep him steady and upright.

And Peter trusted him to.

 

“Alright, kid,” he said as they stepped up to Peter’s door. “This is your stop.”

 

“Thanks, Mis’r Stark,” Peter said. “’Night.”

 

“Night, kiddo.”

 

“Love you,” Peter said, and Tony’s chest filled with warmth, just like it did every time.

 

“Love you too, Pete.”

 

“You’re a good dad,” Peter continued, once again half-speaking through a yawn. “Got both of your kids to bed.”

 

“Thanks, Pete,” he said, and he can feel his throat tightening with emotion. Peter’s never been that direct before, never actively referred to himself as Tony’s kid, even if both of them already saw him that way. Still, it didn’t sound weird when he said it. “Love you,” he said again.

 

“Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! comments and kudos greatly appreciated!! (especially comments--i live for those) 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr as ema--vee !!!
> 
> <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to leave iron dad prompts in the comments or let me know what you think!
> 
> <3


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